


J'ai Envie De Toi

by lovelysnoopy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, French Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I'll add more tags as the story goes on, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POC Harry Hermione and Luna, Slow Burn, he also speaks German, more of a medium burn because I'm too impatient, the first few chapters won't be explicit but I'll get there eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelysnoopy/pseuds/lovelysnoopy
Summary: During a mission in rural France, Harry runs into a familiar face. Two drinks and one conversation later, he might have convinced that familiar face to return to London. It takes time to heal wounds, but sometimes it's easier when you're not alone.In which Harry and Draco reunite after eight years and find that they both have changed enough to want to start over.





	J'ai Envie De Toi

Harry’s shoulders ached. He reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, attempting to massage the sore muscles. Only minor relief was given. He sighed and dropped his arm back down, hanging his head over his knees. He sat on a dusty bed in a small room, the dark green blanket fraying around the edges. The Ministry preferred to use the least amount of money possible when sending aurors abroad; in all honesty, Harry didn’t mind. He was quite used to this environment. But perhaps a room with heating might be nice. 

He glanced behind him to the papers strewn about the bed. It was mandatory to write reports when a mission is finished, but he couldn’t focus. Infiltrating an illegal chimaera breeding den was not exactly what he had imagined his first trip to France to include. Trying to get those beasts into cages and sent off to Greece really did a number on the muscles as well. If he were in London he would be on his couch, a fire whiskey in hand, and putting off the reports for the next morning. Minnie, a black cat with little white socks he had adopted a year ago and the namesake of _“good ol’ Minnie Mcgonagall”_ as Ron put it, would be cuddled by his feet. However, he was not in London, Minnie was not there, and he was whiskey-less. 

Whiskey was sounding pretty good about now, actually. The town may be small but there had to be a local pub. Harry stood up and grabbed his coat and scarf from a wooden chair by the bed and left his room, a subtle flick of his wand behind him to lock the door ( _“I’m very sorry,”_ the lady who ran the small inn had apologised, _“The key is very old and rusted and doesn’t always fit the lock.”)_. 

“Excuse me…” Harry approached the front desk, the lady’s daughter, Marie, looked up from her book. “Is there a pub around here?”

_“Oui,”_ she nodded, pointing to her right. 

“Er…” Harry pursed his lips slightly. The word ‘pub’ was the same in English and French, so she probably understood him, but he didn’t think he could understand if she gave him directions. “...Um merci…” He mumbled, turning to leave. She nodded and returned to her book. Harry shook his head, wishing he had learned at least directions in French. He thought most people in France spoke English as well, but he didn’t think about the fact that he’d be in a smaller more rural town. He turned right, hoping it would be obvious which building was the pub and he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by attempting French. 

It was mid October, a cold and wet time of year in most of northern France. Harry tightened his scarf around his neck, pulling it up over his nose. The town was quite quiet, the sun already setting. Only a few people were outside, some walking home or walking their pets. Then Harry spotted it- faded yellow painted letters spelling ‘PUB’ among other French words. He sped up, rushing to get inside and out of the cold. A little bell chimed when he swung the door open. He closed it more gently than he had opened it, trying to be a bit more polite. There were a handful of people inside, more than Harry had expected. Unravelling his scarf, he approached the bar and waved down the bartender, hoping that he spoke English.

_“Que voulez-vous?”_ The man asked unenthusiastically. 

“Uh…” Harry’s voice stuck in his throat for a moment. “I uh… I don’t- Do you speak English?” 

The man didn’t roll his eyes, but the facial expression he made gave off the same effect. He shouted something, catching the attention of a woman at the other end of the bar who had just finished pouring drinks for a few men. The male bartender snapped his fingers and pointed to Harry before turning around and walking away. The woman said something to the customers before heading over.

_“Qu’est-ce que vous voulez commander?”_

“I only speak, uh, I only speak English.” Harry mumbled, starting to feel slightly embarrassed. 

“Oh! Of course.” The girl made a face as if she were saying _‘duh’_. “No wonder he called me over.” Her French accent was thick, but Harry was just glad he no longer had to embarrass himself.

“Uh, do you have any whiskey?”

“Sure, what kind?” 

“I… I don’t really care, honestly. Just something.”

The woman shrugged and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind her, uncorking it and pouring the contents into a small glass. Harry passed her some muggle money, not really sure if it would be enough or not. She just smiled and took it, passing him his glass before leaving. 

Harry swirled the liquid around the glass for a moment before downing it in one swallow. This whiskey wasn’t one he was familiar with, but that’s not to say it was bad. The burn was a pleasant feeling. A tinge of guilt seeped into his mind as he ordered another. He wouldn’t drink too much; He always tried to limit himself to two drinks out of caution.

Not wanting to dwell on the memories, he nursed his glass slowly and glanced around the pub. It was dark and damp, but the lights were warm and yellow. The female bartender was pouring more drinks for the men at the other end of the bar and the male bartender was out of sight. A woman sat at a table alone slowly eating soup. There was only one other patron, one who sat alone as well. He had a fancy looking drink and was reading from a very small book, about the size of his hand. The dim light didn’t seem to bother him at all as his eyes seemed relaxed behind his reading glasses. He stood out to Harry as he was very well put together for a Friday afternoon at an empty pub; His outfit bordered on being a suit. He shifted his head as he flicked some blonde hair out of his face, and when the light struck him-

Harry stopped sipping his drink. Were the dim lights causing him to see things?

What were the odds that in this tiny northern French town Harry would cross paths with Draco Malfoy?

The odds were clearly in his favour, or out of his favour, Harry wasn’t really sure which. He hadn’t seen Malfoy since the court trial. Harry was present and a key witness; He testified on his behalf and helped solidify his punishment as only temporary exile rather than time in Azkaban, as he was originally facing. Harry didn’t do much to help Lucius, who was to his knowledge still in Azkaban, but he had also helped grant Narcissa temporary exile. After the trial the Malfoys had disappeared out of his life.

Yet here Draco Malfoy sat, in this tiny pub in a rural town in France, of all places. Harry worried his lip between his teeth. He could just ignore him. Just because he saw a familiar face doesn’t mean he had to say hello. He could finish his drink and go back to the inn. He could look away-

...And of course he was already on his way to Malfoy’s table, whiskey in hand, all the thoughts saying otherwise forcibly quieted to only small murmurs in the back of his mind.

“Malfoy.”

Harry thought perhaps he had actually said the name in his head rather than aloud as Malfoy sat perfectly still. A moment passed, and a blond head slowly turned to look behind him. Malfoy stared up at Harry, and despite his eyes taking time to adjust from reading his miniature book to looking at Harry’s face through his spectacles, Harry knew he already knew who the voice belonged to.

“Potter.” He breathed. 

“...I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Malfoy took a few seconds to reply. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone here.”

Harry worried his lip again for a brief second before taking another sip of his whiskey. His first drink was beginning to kick in and he used it as a silent excuse (perhaps to his conscience) to ask, “Mind if I sit?”

Perhaps it was the nearly finished fancy drink kicking in as well, because Malfoy nodded. 

Sitting and placing his drink on the table, Harry merely looked at Malfoy. Malfoy had closed his book and was tucking it into the breast pocket of his blazer along with his reading glasses and occupying himself with taking a long and slow sip of his drink. His hair was longer than he’d ever had it at school, but not by much; It didn’t pass his shoulders. It wasn’t nearly as neatly slicked back as it used to be, now tucked behind his ears, the shorter pieces framing his face escaping occasionally. He looked healthier than Harry had last seen him; In court he was thin, skin a pasty pale, dark circles permanently under his eyes. Now he seemed to have filled out a bit, however still tall and slim in his fitted turtleneck. His cheeks were no longer as hollow and his eyes weren’t as bruised, yet although it may have been a trick of the dim lights he still looked exhausted. 

“Looks fancy. What is it?” Harry asked about the drink. If Ginny or Hermione were here he was sure one of them would have playfully jeered, “How eloquently spoken!”

“Just a gin and tonic.” He smacked his lips slightly and kept a hold of his glass. “I like to garnish with lavender and lemon.”

“Ah…” Harry nodded. He glanced at his own glass and showed it. “Just whiskey.”

Malfoy peered over his glass at Harry’s. His grey eyes flickered up briefly to look at Harry’s before returning to the drink and saying, “Rye whiskey.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t know what whiskey you ordered? I can smell it from here, Potter.”

The snide attitude and cockiness Harry remembered was resurfacing sooner than he thought. Despite despising it so much at the time, he found the left corner of his mouth tug up ever so slightly.

“My apologies, I’ve got a bit more things to do than spend all day blindfolded and identifying booze by smell.”

Malfoy scoffed, looking down at his drink. A few strands of hair fell in front of his face and he made no attempt to tuck them away.

Moments passed. Realising Malfoy wasn’t going to say anything, Harry thought to himself, _‘Just rip the bandaid off, Potter!’_

“What are you doing here?”

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “I could ask the same of you.” He rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, leaning forward. A few rings adorned his fingers, all very large and gaudy. Normally Harry would take no notice and much less a liking to that kind of jewellery, but he had to admit that the silver rings looked very nice on Malfoy’s slender fingers. Mentally recoiling, Harry debated leaving the last of his whiskey unconsumed if those were the kinds of intrusive thoughts that were produced by it.

“I’ve been staying nearby.” Malfoy continued and Harry had never been more thankful that Malfoy could not read minds. “I have family in _Châlons-en-Champagne.”_

Harry nodded as if he knew where that was. Something in Malfoy’s eyes told him he knew he was clueless. 

“And you?”

“I just wrapped up a case.”

Malfoy looked away and took a sip of his gin and tonic. “Yes, you’re an auror, I remember.” 

_‘I remember’_ seemed to drill into Harry’s mind. It really had been that long since they had seen each other. Finishing his drink in one last swig, Harry continued, “Yeah, an illegal breeding case. Can’t really discuss the details but I’m gonna be aching for the next few days.” When Malfoy looked up with a quizzical expression, Harry elaborated, “Chimaeras. They put up a hell of a fight.” 

“Sounds like you lead quite the exciting life still.”

Malfoy almost sounded jealous. His elbows were still propped up on the table but he seemed to be retreating, sitting back and lowering his hands to the tabletop. 

“Er, I guess.” Harry gave a half hearted chuckle, pretending not to notice. He played with the hem of his sleeve. He was suddenly aware that he was still wearing his scarf and coat and proceeded to remove them, hanging them on the back of his chair. “And what do you do… you know… now?” Harry silently cursed himself, unsure why he was so awkward all of a sudden. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to be liquid confidence? 

If Malfoy found it awkward, he didn’t show it. “Nothing of importance.” At Harry’s silence, he continued, “I write, mostly. Magical History. I started by translating English textbooks to French, but now I have time to research what I want and write what I want.”

“Translating?” Harry was stunned. He didn’t know Malfoy spoke French. Perhaps the fact that he now lived in France should have given Harry a clue, but even still it shocked him nonetheless.

“Yes. Contrary to what you may think, I had a job, Potter.” 

It took Harry a moment to realise that Malfoy misunderstood his question. He seemed slightly offended, turning his nose towards his drink.

“Oh, oh no!” Harry shook his head quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“Yes, fluently.” Malfoy pursed his lips slightly. Harry couldn’t tell if he was still offended or embarrassed. “It’s my third language.”

“Third?”

Malfoy scoffed, but it seemed more of a lighthearted one. There was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yes, Potter. I speak German as well. No need to sound so surprised.”

“Wow…” Harry breathed, sitting back in his seat. The power of the both whiskeys were finally hitting, and Harry felt himself relaxing. “I’ve always wanted to learn another language. Never had the time. I was thinking maybe Turkish or something.”

“Turkish?” It was Malfoy’s turn to act surprised now, his smile slightly more prominent, perhaps with amusement. “And why would Harry Potter want to learn Turkish?”

“I dunno,” Harry found himself grinning. “It’s a cool language. Honestly I’d learn pretty much any language if I could.” The air was no longer so stiff; He felt himself beginning to grow comfortable. The slight drop of Malfoys shoulders and less rigid posture gave Harry the impression that he too was loosening up, his gin and tonic nearing its end. Never in his school years would Harry have thought this possible; He and Malfoy having a drink together, talking casually without being at each other’s throats? It was unfathomable then, but now Harry had to admit it felt… nice. 

“It is a very pretty language, I’ll admit. But seeing as where I am, I think I’ll stick with French.” Malfoy chuckled. He looked away as he did it, nose pointed toward his glass, but the breathy chuckle was still there. Harry found himself chuckling too.

“If only I had more time I’d be multilingual by now, I’m sure.” Harry began, finding this topic an easy one to discuss. “But the Ministry never slows down, especially with Kingsley as Minister; He wants all the aurors working double time. I’m sure he’d give me a break if I asked but I-”

At the mention of his government job, Malfoy’s smile slowly melted. Harry froze, realising he struck a wrong chord. The short lived comfort was gone.

“...I dunno. Anyway,” Harry cleared his throat, deciding it were time for a subject change. “What was that book you were reading?”

“Oh, this?” Malfoy patted his chest where the book was tucked away inside his blazer. “It’s not a book. They’re notes.” His facial expression became mocking, and for some reason Harry was slightly relieved at the familiarity of it. “Honestly, do you think people actually read novels printed that small?”

“I dunno, maybe you’re the outlier.” 

Malfoy let out a breath intended as a scoff but coming out more as a laugh.

“Why suddenly so interested in my life, Potter?”

Despite Malfoy’s sarcastic tone, Harry felt that he meant it as an actual question, hidden behind the sarcasm. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at being called out. He was suddenly hyper aware of his own pulse in his ears, and he cursed the alcohol for making him react like this.

“I just… wanted to catch up, I guess.” In all honesty, Harry wasn’t sure himself why he was there. Why had he walked over to Malfoy? Why had he sat with him and kept a conversation? Most of all, why was he enjoying it?

Malfoy seemed to take in his words slowly. He appeared to have something else to say, but his lips remained sealed. Eventually he continued about his notes, explaining that they’re for his personal research. The book is small because he likes to take it with him outside of home and he prefers to travel light.  
Soon they began to converse more casually. The momentary comfort from earlier had slowly begun to return, and Harry began to realise that he found himself wanting to talk to Malfoy more. He could have just briefly said hello and left once he felt too awkward, but something about Malfoy held him there, had him asking more questions and branching off into more topics, keeping the conversation going. 

It was probably the whiskey. 

The longer they talked, the more Harry became aware of how attractive Malfoy seemed in this warm yellow light. The dark wood around them contrasted so well with his pale figure, and his blazer was fitted perfectly, clinging to his abdomen and arms. He didn’t mentally recoil this time. Harry didn’t think he was this much of a lightweight, but if his whiskey-addled mind was thinking that Draco Malfoy was attractive then it must have been a recent development. He blinked a bit, focusing again on Malfoy’s words, but kept finding his eyes flickering to his gaudy rings on his entwined fingers. They began appearing less gaudy to Harry the more he looked at them. They were large and extravagant, yes, but perhaps not as tasteless as he thought at first. He was sure that if he brought them up Malfoy would make some quip along the lines of, ‘Merlin, Potter, have you spent your entire life shopping at a thrift store?’ He then realised that he had never seen a wizarding thrift store, and perhaps Malfoy wouldn’t even know what one was. Nevertheless he would have some sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue.

Harry was surprised when he checked his watch and read 7:02 pm. Had he really been here for almost two hours? Had he really been talking to Malfoy of all people for two hours? There was no denying it. He tapped the face of his watch as if that were to fix it, yet it still read 7:02. It switched to 7:03 shortly after. 

“What’re you doing?” Malfoy’s brows furrowed and he almost looked as to be judging Harry, who mentally rolled his eyes. 

“Thought my watch might be wrong. You know we’ve been talking for nearly two hours?”

“Really?” Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised.

“Well, one hour and forty minutes or so. Close enough.” 

They grew silent for a moment, both taking in the information. They really had a civil conversation for nearly two hours, one that at least Harry found enjoyable enough. Perhaps it was just one of those ‘adult things’ that his seniors at work would tell him; You could not care for someone at all as a school kid, then ten years later and you’re both adults suddenly chatting over some coffee and biscuits. In this case it was eight years and whiskey and gin, but that was beside the point.

“I, ah, should go.” Harry mumbled. He cleared his throat. “I gotta finish my report before I get too tired.”

Malfoy nodded in understanding. 

“It was… good to see you.”

Despite having a nice conversation, Harry was still taken aback by this. It was one thing to discuss mostly superficial things but it was another to actually acknowledge the pleasantry of it- the pleasantry of each other’s company.

“...It was good to see you too. See you around, Malfoy.”

Harry got up and put on his coat and scarf. Malfoy nodded a goodbye. Harry had pushed in his chair and was about to turn toward the door before he blurted, “Are you going to stay here?”

Malfoy’s expression changed to confusion. “What do you mean?”

Harry had decided not to ask the question when he first thought of it to keep things lighter, but knowing he would most likely not see Malfoy again for a very long time, and that he had an alcohol impaired brain to blame if it turned sour, he decided to take a shot.

“You’re exile was lifted a while ago. Why are you still in France?”

Malfoy pursed his lips while piecing together a reply. “I don’t have a life in London anymore. My family is here.” He said this matter of factly, but something in his eyes and the lilt of his voice betrayed him. There was something melancholy, and even Harry was observant enough to see it.

Harry, his hand still on the back of his chair, couldn’t stop himself. “Why not move back?”

Malfoy opened his mouth, perhaps to say ‘I just told you why, idiot’, but then hesitated. He realised that Harry was asking something different. He knew that Harry noticed. 

“Malfoys aren’t quite welcome in London.”

Harry could tell that was all he wanted to say. Despite that, he added, “I learned a long time ago not to care about what the public thinks of me.” Malfoy said nothing in return, and Harry simply concluded, “Goodbye, Malfoy.”

He had already turned and took a few steps away when he heard a short “Goodbye, Potter.”

  


* * *

  


The kitchen smelled strongly of eggs and black coffee. Ron prefered it black. ‘It’s sobering,’ he would say, which would often shut up the person who asked, not wanting to delve into the topic. Harry preferred his sweet, one sugar and lots of milk. Bitter things were not even close to an enjoyable flavour to him, and no matter how ‘sobering’ black coffee may be, he’d rather choke on the stalest and hardest block of fudge than drink it. Yet despite the strong bitter smell of the kitchen, Harry didn’t mind. Because that strong bitter smell meant that his best friend was with him.

“Ginny and Luna came back from their honeymoon on Thursday while you were gone.” Ron shook the salt shaker over his eggs. He slid the spatula under it and plopped it onto his plate, turning the burner of the stove off. Living in a muggle dwelling with Hermione had taught him how to use basic muggle appliances, although a few things had still slipped through his grasp. Telephones were one of them, especially now that cell phones had become common place. Ron just couldn’t wrap his head around them.

“How was it? Did they have a good time?” Harry mixed his chopped vegetables into the egg he was beating. 

“Great, Ginny looked exhausted but happy. Luna said they found a bumper dunkle dink in Ireland.” 

Harry was positive that the name of whatever creature Luna had said was certainly not named a bumper dunkle dink, but he wasn’t any the wiser to its actual name so he kept his mouth shut, electing to smile in amusement instead. 

“Well good for them. A bumper dunkle dink on their first trip together, how lucky!” Ron laughed at Harry’s response, and Harry chuckled as well.

Luna and Ginny had finally married after nearly six years of being together. Despite the Daily Prophet (who claimed to have _‘reinvented themselves’_ , yet still published the same meaningless and misconstrued articles) reporting that Ginny and Harry regarded each other with _‘unbridled disdain’_ after their break up two years after the war, it was quite the contrary. It was true they had broken up on bad terms, but they had reconciled not too long after. Luna and Ginny didn’t take long to develop a relationship, and Harry was their number one supporter. If he could have worn one of the large muggle styrofoam glove that they wore at football games with a large NUMBER 1 written on it to their wedding he would have. However when he suggested it, Ginny had threatened to hex him. Despite being styrofoam glove-less, Harry had given a heartfelt speech at the wedding which had reduced Ginny to happy-tears.

“They’re in our guest room at the moment. All they’ve been doing is been sleeping since they got back. Barely come out of their room. I didn’t think wizard travel would cause muggle jet lag, would it?”

Harry gave Ron a deadpan look. 

“Yeah. I just wanted to at least try and convince myself that wasn’t what was happening in the room beside mine.” 

Harry openly laughed at Ron’s discomfort. 

Ron took his plate of eggs and a piece of toast and sat at the table, not hesitating to dig in. Harry was still cooking his own eggs. He liked them as an omelet, adding spices and vegetables and slices of ham. Ron liked them sunny side up with nothing but salt and pepper, much quicker prep time than Harry. Watching his friend eat, he chewed on the inside of his cheeks, debating if it were a good idea to tell him about the rest of his trip. They had already talked about most of his week in France, and Harry was embarrassed to admit that he had missed his best friend dearly, to which Ron had jokingly giggled in a high pitch voice and cooed _‘Oh, Harry!’_ before engulfing him in a hug. Harry truly did miss Ron in that short week. Ron’s presence was almost always filled with lighthearted banter and laughter. He was a constant in Harry’s life, and being gone for more than a few days felt off without his jokes and warmth. 

He decided to tell him. He was his best friend, after all.

“You know,” He started cautiously. Ron caught the shift in tone and slowed his eating, keeping his eyes on Harry. “I saw Malfoy.”

Ron made a face of mild disgust. “Malfoy? Where?”

“In France.”

Ron said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue.

“He’s living with family in some place called… er… Champagne… something.” Harry had no memory of the name other than the word champagne, which he had found amusing. He didn’t think a city would be named after an alcoholic beverage, but out of most places France seemed to make sense. 

“How do you- wait. Wait, you mean you talked to the git?”

Harry’s ears began to flame in embarrassment and he turned back to his omelet and flipped it. The one side was partially burnt and he occupied himself with attempting to scrape off the charred bits. 

Ron was _almost_ always banter and laughter. He could get serious when needed to, or even when it was unneeded, as Harry thought in that moment. 

“Uh, yeah. We talked.” He was unsure why he felt so embarrassed. It was possibly because he could feel Ron staring at him as if he had sprouted another head, or maybe because he didn’t want to admit to Ron that he had enjoyed talking to Malfoy. Most likely it was both.

“...And?”

Harry picked up his skillet and walked to the bin, sliding the omelet unceremoniously into its mouth. He placed the skillet into the sink and turned around to lean against the edge of the counter, finally looking back at Ron.

“It was nice.”

Ron’s expression turned from shocked to dumbfounded. There were a few other emotions present, but Harry was too busy worrying about the outcome to really analyze them all. Ron began to worry his lip between his teeth, sitting back slightly and really taking Harry’s few words in. He hadn’t revealed much, and he wasn’t sure if that was for better or for worse.

“It was… nice.” Ron repeated and the two made eye contact. “Merlin’s beard Harry- this is Malfoy we’re talking about! Could you really have a ‘nice’ conversation with him? The bloke is so filled to the brim with hogwash that you can practically smell it in his breath!”

Harry thought Ron’s insult was a bit petulant, and also gross, but his best friend had always been very colourful with his choice of words. 

“Well, I managed to have a… nice… conversation with him and his hogwash breath.” Harry tried to shrug it off nonchalantly. This was fruitless, as Ron’s expression didn’t change one bit. “I mean, it lasted almost two hours.”

Harry had said the last bit out of some subform of spite, not quite as potent but still born from Ron’s insult of Malfoy. A week earlier and Harry would had laughed at it, but for some reason now it had rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t looking at Ron, rather preferring his kitchen countertop at the moment and the many knife marks on it from his laziness to use a cutting board, but he could imagine Ron’s eyes were practically bulging out of his sockets. 

“T-... _two hours?_ Harry are you _bloody mad?”_

“Okay, look,” Harry began, whipping his head back to look at Ron. He hated when Ron was angry at him, and he hated it even more when it was for something unnecessary. In this case, he felt that it was the latter. “I talked to him. He was polite. A bit of a smart arse but he was still… enjoyable to talk to.” Harry felt himself swallow around the word ‘enjoyable’. It was one thing so say nice, but enjoyable was different. He watched Ron, whose face was a mixture of confusion and stunned silence, but mostly the former. He continued, “He’s different. He’s mature, I guess. Hell, Ron, it’s been eight years. I don’t expect everyone to be the same.” 

“Yeah, but…” Ron’s eyes silently finished the sentence for him: _‘It’s bloody Malfoy!”_

“I know,” Harry sighed. This had become a larger ordeal than he had meant it to be. He wanted to just tell Ron and move on, but he let the defensive side of him take over. “I’m sorry, I know it must be… shocking, to say the least.”

Ron muttered an affirmation under his breath.

“It was just one conversation. I’ll probably never see him again. It’s not that big of a deal. I just thought I’d let you know since, ya know, you’re my best friend and all.”

Ron’s look softened at this and he pursed his lips. 

“Hey, mate, it’s alright. I guess I just… didn’t think that would have ever happened. But… I guess it was a one time thing. Move on?”

Harry nodded. “Move on.” He agreed. He gave Ron a smile that seemed to break the ice. Ron grinned back and grabbed his fork, cutting a slice of egg and resuming eating. He grimaced and muttered that it had gone cold. They both laughed.

After finishing a new omelet he had made, Harry put their plates in the sink. Ron was about to leave when an owl arrived at Harry’s kitchen window. Ron stopped, curious, as Harry retrieved the letter from the unfamiliar owl. Flipping the letter, he saw a familiar name.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Oh, nothing important. Just some old classmate.”

Ron nodded in understanding. For years after the war many of their former classmates had reached out to them for solace. Despite eight years passing, it still happened occasionally. Harry responded to every one of them. 

This _was_ an old classmate, but not one that Ron was assuming.

Ron smiled and bid Harry goodbye before apparating away. As soon as Ron was gone, Harry turned the letter back around.

_To: Harry Potter_  
_34 Edmund Ave_  
_Kent, Great Britain_  
_From: Draco Malfoy_

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Why was he suddenly feeling like a child again, excited to get a new letter? Perhaps it was the curiosity as to why Malfoy would write him a letter, or perhaps the embarrassment that he had just been talking about him. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, although it felt wrong to compare Malfoy to the devil when he had just defended him so much against Ron. Most importantly, how did Malfoy get his address?

Harry shook his head, tossing his racing thoughts off their tracks and clearing his mind. He sat down at the table and carefully opened the letter, being unnecessarily gently and trying not to tear it. He slid the letter from it’s envelope and unfolded it, a small paragraph written in forest green ink greeting him.

_October 15th, 2006  
Potter,_

__

__

_Your parting words have convinced me to move back to London. I have grown up here, and I would rather not let something as insignificant as gossip and reputation keep me from my home. As you said, my exile ended long ago, and I have every right to return home if I wish._

_I will be living in a muggle flat in the meantime until I can find a better place to settle. I know this may be sudden, but I would like to invite you over for tea. I have lots of time on my hands now that I have returned, so if you wish to take me up on my offer please send a return letter with the owl, Abbé, stating your preferred time. The address is on the back of this letter._

_And to answer the question I know you are asking: I got your address from Pansy Parkinson. She works at the Ministry of Magic as well and was almost too eager to give me your address. Watch out, Potter. Some people might not have as good intentions as me and Parkinson. Either way, my apologies. I was unsure how else to contact you._

_Malfoy_

Harry flipped the letter over and, sure enough, the address of some place in East Sussex was written in the same elegant handwriting. Underneath it said:

_P.S. Give Abbé a biscuit if you can._

Harry glanced up at the bird who perched in his window sill looking mildly annoyed. Harry stood and walked to the counter, opened his biscuit tin, and gave one to the owl who took it with much haste. He returned to his seat and thought for a moment. So Malfoy really had returned to London. And he wanted to invite Harry over… for tea. For a split second Harry felt a feelings that used to be so common in his school years- the feeling that this was a trick, one of Malfoy’s ploys to humiliate him in front of their classmates. But the second passed, and Harry found himself making a puzzled expression at himself. That was over eight years ago. He was no longer a school kid, he was no longer child rivals with Malfoy. They were adults and past acquaintances. Malfoy had probably extended this invitation to him as a way to say thank you without actually saying it, as Harry had definitely noticed it was left unwritten in the letter. Harry had also noticed that it was a bit too easy for someone to get his address, and he decided he needed to talk to someone at the Ministry about that. Taking his wand from his pocket and summoning an inkwell, quill, and parchment, he wrote a quick response letter. He jotted down Saturday’s date and 10:30 AM. Rolling the letter and tying it with a ribbon, he then attached it to Abbé’s foot.

“Thanks…” Harry contemplated how to pronounce the name. ‘Abe’, like Abe Lincoln? Or maybe ‘Abba’, like the popular muggle band? He settled with the latter. “Thanks, Abbé.” If he had said the name incorrectly (as he was sure he did) then the owl had not indicated so, as it turned around and flew away, Harry’s letter jostling slightly in the take off. Harry had begun to realise what he had done. He had just agreed to have tea with who his younger self would have called his ‘arch nemesis’. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. It was, well, shocking, to say the least. 

A quiet mewl sounded from below him and he felt soft fur wind between his ankles. Minnie was looking for attention. Harry bent down and picked her up, snuggling her to his chest. Her purring was loud and steady, and he realised he had missed her while in France, too. 

  


* * *

  


Harry found himself hunched over in bed, head between his knees, hands gripping his fringe, and sweat dripping down his neck and brow. His breathing was ragged and desperate and his eyes screwed shut. After a moment of this, he slowly opened his eyes and unclasped his hands. He remained hunched, letting the sweat drip onto the bed sheets below. He had thought he felt it, he really did. It was a sort of phantom pain, he knew, but it felt so real. Waking up in a dark room to the pain had sent him into a brief panic. After a few moments, but what felt like much longer, his breathing subsided and he finally lifted his head up, wiping the sweat from his brow and gently touching his scar. He turned to his nightstand, a cellphone laying there. Normally when this happened he would call Ginny. Even after their breakup they had kept this arrangement going: Whenever one of them had a nightmare or panic of some sort, they’d call each other. Doesn’t matter what time of the day or night. Harry began to reach out for the phone, but stopped himself. Ginny had just returned from her honeymoon. He didn’t want to spoil her night. He had dealt with this alone before, and he could do it again. Just one night. He slowly laid back down and pulled the covers back over himself, trying to force his heart rate to go down. It took time, but sleep eventually fluttered his eyes shut. 

The next morning Harry awoke to a call from Ginny. He hadn’t called her or texted her at all the night before, and even though he was sure this call was for a different purpose, he felt as if she still knew.

“G’morning, Harry. Did I wake you?”

“Nope.” Harry croaked into the phone’s speaker. Ginny snorted back.

“Liar.”

Harry let out a raspy chuckle before clearing his throat.

“Anyway,” Ginny continued, getting straight to the point. “I haven’t seen you in a while and I wanted to get lunch during your break today. I promise I won’t keep you overtime.”

He could practically _hear_ the smirk he knew she was wearing.

“Alright alright, Clementine’s?” Harry named their favourite cafe, a muggle stop frequented by Ministry staff as it was near the entrance to their workplace.

“Clementine’s.” Ginny agreed, hanging up.

Harry checked his clock and saw that he might as well get up and start getting ready for work anyway. During his shower he made sure to scrub all the sweat from last night off and allow himself a few minutes under the hot water to loosen his muscles. He was tense, his neck especially hurting. He grimaced a little bit as he tried to rub the knots out of it, to only get minor relief in the end.

Wiping off the steam on the mirror Harry took a look at his hazy reflection. His tanned skin was reddened by the hot water. His hair was drenched and he rubbed his towel through it, causing it to stick every which way. He smoothed it back as best he could and examined his face. He had shaved just yesterday so he didn’t have much of anything there. There wasn’t much of a reason for him to just stand there and ogle at himself in the mirror, so he quickly brushed his teeth and left the toilet to get changed. 

A white button down, a vest, trousers, and a cloak was his usual uniform. He wore loafers, which at first he had disliked. They offered little support and the soles weren’t very soft. Over a while he came to like them, finding himself quite handsome, if he did say so himself. Although on normal days he’d rather dress for comfort, he didn’t mind his job’s uniform requiring a bit of style. If he were to wear his own personal wardrobe to work, it would most likely consist of trainers, jeans, a t-shirt, and a jumper. Harry felt that somehow the Ministry probably wouldn’t approve of an auror dressed as such.

Harry’s venture to the Ministry of Magic was quite normal, the same as usual. He came in through floo powder, arriving directly into the Atrium. Many other witches and wizards were arriving and bustling down the large corridor toward lifts to take them to their offices. Harry squeezed into the nearest lift, touching shoulders with an old lady who was holding a large cage of birds. Taking a second look, he realised they were actually very large bees, and found himself squeezing closer to the person on his other side. Lucky for him the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was only level two and Harry could leave before he had to get any closer to the bees. He had nothing against bees, honestly, but when they’re that large and very close to you, there’s a bit of anxiousness to move away. Harry dropped his report off at the Head Auror’s office and arrived in his cubicle. The rest of the morning was quite uneventful, as Harry assumed it would be. He usually had a day or so of quiet in between being assigned cases. 

Sitting at a small table inside of Clementine’s, Harry spotted a familiar head of red hair in the distance. As it drew closer, he could make out the face of a particular Weasley, or now Lovegood-Weasley, as her last name had been hyphenated at her wedding. The bell on the door chimed as she briskly walked in, her hands deep in her pockets.

“It’s only mid-October yet I’m already freezing my arse off!” She said breathlessly, plopping down on the seat opposite Harry. 

“It’s good to see you too, Gin.”

The two laughed and leaned forward, giving a quick hug over the table. To Ginny’s defense, her cheek was very cold. Autumn approaches fast, but winter, still a month or so away, seemed to be creeping up quicker than they thought.

Ginny waved a waitress over and ordered two coffees with milk and sugar. Warming up just enough, she removed her scarf, but kept her coat on.

“So,” Harry began, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Great!” Ginny grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Ireland is gorgeous, I’m glad I got to go. And there’s never a dull moment with Luna. We joined a wizarding tour group and even they were confused at Luna’s remarks here and there about how there may be a cousin of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack within those regions of Ireland and that the kind of Plimplies in the area were immune to certain poisons. No one had any idea what she was talking about, and I loved it.”

“A _Crumple-Horned Snorkack!”_ Harry repeated. “That’s what it’s called- Ron had called it a bumper dunkle dink.”

“A _what?”_ Ginny snickered. “Luna’s his sister-in-law now. He could at least _try_ to learn their names.”

Harry thought that being practically their family he should also make an effort to learn the elusive creature’s names, but he kept that thought to himself. The look on Ginny’s face suggested that she knew exactly what he was thinking already, though. 

Their coffees arriving, Ginny ordered a large bowl of clam chowder. Harry told the waitress coffee was enough for him. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. She mixed her sugar in her coffee and drank it, shuddering at the warmth. She eyed Harry, who was slowly stirring his sugar in.

“So, how were you last night?” 

And there it was. He was always transparent to Ginny. He tended to lose his appetite after having nights like those, and she knew that all too well.

Harry let out a long sigh. “I’m okay, I guess.” He took a sip of his coffee. The warmth and sweetness was comforting. He took a moment to take it in, before continuing, “It was hurting again. Or, well, I thought it was. It’s no big deal. I was able to sleep again.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Ginny’s tone sounded accusatory at first, but Harry knew better. He knew she was worried and afraid he would shut down. He had used to do that, but not for a long time.

“Hey, it’s fine. Really. I just didn’t want to bother you so soon after your honeymoon.” 

Ginny seemed to take a moment to think. She finally said, “That’s a stupid excuse, but I accept it anyway. Next time, though,” She reached over and shoved his shoulder lightly. “Call me!”

Harry slowly sipped on his coffee as he chatted with Ginny. She went on about her honeymoon in Ireland and how even though she and Luna had been together for nearly six years, everything felt new now. Not completely new, but there was a difference. She liked being able to call Luna her wife rather than girlfriend. She liked the feeling of the ring on her left hand. Harry found himself smiling most of the conversation, the events of last night being pushed to the back of his mind. In between bites of clam chowder Ginny explained how she and Luna have been looking for places to live and move into, somewhere to be their own home rather than staying at the Burrow or at Ron and Hermione’s. 

Nearing the end of her soup and the end of her topic of house hunting, she turned to tables on Harry.

“So, what’s been new with you?”

“Me? Oh, well, uh…” He thought for a moment. “I spent a week in France on a case, that’s why I wasn’t here when you two came back. I was tracking down some illegal Chimaera breeders. We caught them all and sent the Chimaeras back to Greece.”

“How heroic.” Ginny cooed, a hint of mirth in her voice. She loved to tease Harry about his ‘heroic deeds’ as an auror, and he didn’t mind. He let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah. And…” He thought about it, and decided that if Ron knew, Ginny should know too. “That’s not all that happened in France.” 

Ginny raised an eyebrow suggestively and Harry quickly shook his head to quell her assumptions.

“No, no, not like that…” He took a deep breath. “I saw Draco Malfoy.”

Ginny dropped her jokingly suggestive expression and furrowed her eyebrows. He face was similar to what Ron’s had been, but with less disgust and more confusion. 

“I talked to him. For a while. We had a… long chat. He seems a bit different. Better.” Harry was struggling to put words together to describe it, trying not to make it seem too good or too bad. “I enjoyed talking to him, actually.” 

Ginny’s eyebrows then rose is surprise, and the quick observation that Weasleys communicate very much through facial expressions briefly flitted through Harry’s mind.

“Huh…” Was all she could say for the moment. She seemed to be taking this much better than Ron. “So,” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, her expression becoming more relaxed. “What did you two talk about?”

Harry was a bit stunned. Ginny just accepted it that easily? Ginny, the most stubborn and fiery girl he knows (and in a good way, of course)?

“Well geez, Harry, there’s no reason to gape like that.”

Harry hadn’t realised his mouth had been open slightly in shock. He closed it and cleared his throat.

“You’re… you’re not upset? Or confused?”

“No, I’m definitely confused.” Ginny clarified. “But I trust you. If you had said it was that vile leech of a man, the one locked up, I would have hexed you on the spot. But his kid…” Ginny trailed off for a moment, thinking of the right thing to say. “I guess he’s not a kid anymore but… I don’t like him, I never have, but I know you at least cared enough to testify for him. And if all this time later you’re telling me you managed to have a good conversation with him, I’m all for it. I trust your judgement Harry.” Her lips then curled slightly, and she added, “...Most of the time.”

Harry let out a relieved sigh followed by soft laughter. 

“Thanks Gin. Ron didn’t take it too well when I told him, but we talked it through.”

Ginny nodded in understanding. Ron had a different kind of dislike for Malfoy than Ginny had. They all disliked Malfoy, but Ron was a lot more intense about it than her or Hermione, and clearly now Harry too. 

“I haven’t gotten a chance to tell Ron this since it happened after he left, but…” Harry found his voice growing quieter, despite there not being much of a reason to. There were only two wizards in the cafe that Harry recognised, both sitting in the opposite corner and far out of earshot. Still, Harry kept his voice lowered. “I agreed to have tea with him on Saturday.”

“This Saturday?” Ginny asked, surprised. She followed suit and lowered her voice as well. “It wasn’t just a one time ‘Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while’ kind of deal?” 

“I guess not.” Harry bit his lip for a moment before adding, “I think it’s a thank you… I’m sort of the reason he moved back to London.”

Ginny’s mouth fell open and she whispered, “Don’t tell me you’ve started some whirlwind romance with _Malfoy_ of all people.”

_“What? No!”_ Harry hissed, embarrassed. He had felt his ears and cheeks slowly turning red since the conversation about Malfoy started, but they were painfully obvious now. “No, I mean, he wanted to move back but was worried because so many people know him here. I told him not to worry about it and... I guess those were the right words because here he is, back in London.”

“Huh,” Ginny sat back in her chair. A teasing expression flashed across her features for a split second. “Didn’t know you could be that persuasive just by saying ‘don’t worry about it’.”

“No, I didn’t just- okay,” Harry pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could hear Ginny snickering and he knew she was just trying to get him riled up.

After a few moments Ginny had stopped, letting her voice gain a more serious tone.

“Jokes aside, Harry, yes, I trust your judgement. But do I trust Malfoy? No. Be careful on Saturday, okay? Even if you don’t think anything will happen, just… keep your guard up. You never know.”

Harry nodded. It was something he hadn’t wanted to admit himself. Malfoy had seemed different, but he had only the one interaction with him. It was longer than he had expected it to be, but even so. It was far too short to judge his character completely. Harry pushed the thought out of his mind. It was time for him to return to work, his lunch break had ended five minutes ago.

“So much for promising not to keep me overtime, huh Ginny?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! I'm always rocky when it comes to starting off stories, and I've had this in my drafts for a while, so I hope it turned out okay! I'll try to update at least once a week (although since school is starting again this may be a loose schedule). It's been a long time since I've studied French so please ignore or correct any mistakes I've made/will make. Also I'm unsure exactly how to write the address so... I'll just keep it like that. Let me know what you thought of this first chapter :^)


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